


A Shared Trust

by Zanate56



Category: Tintin (Comics), Tintin - All Media Types
Genre: Friendship, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-16
Updated: 2017-12-17
Packaged: 2018-04-21 00:26:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4807919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zanate56/pseuds/Zanate56
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set immediately after the events of “The Crab with the Golden Claws”; an exploration of Tintin and Haddock’s first tentative steps towards trusting each other and building a friendship.  Prequel to “Chasing the Stars”.  Ch. 4 posted!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Bagghar, Morocco

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: This story includes descriptions of some of the physical effects of alcohol poisoning, so readers please be aware if this is a sensitive topic for you.
> 
> This fic is my own interpretation of what happened immediately after TCWTGC; in several of my fics, especially “Needs Met”, I mentioned Haddock being forced into early retirement over the Karaboudjan affair. This is a separate fic from “Needs Met” and is based solely within the comic verse and elaborates on that idea. I have put my own spin on things while trying to remain as true as possible to Canon. I hope readers enjoy this story, and thank you again for reading and reviewing.

_“Friendship marks a life even more deeply than love. Love risks degenerating into obsession, friendship is never anything but sharing.” – Elie Wiesel_

_Port of Bagghar, Morocco_

_3 April 1934_

Tintin watched as the French legionnaires finished arresting the crew of the _Karaboudjan_ and escorting them to the local fort where they would be held before being extradited to England to face charges. As exciting as this adventure had been he was ready to go home, especially since he hadn’t planned on being kidnapped and ending up in Morocco of all places. Mrs. Finch was probably worried sick by now, he thought. But still, at least he had a story to give his editor when he came back as proof that he hadn’t deserted his post. The former editor of The Daily News had been kind enough to give Tintin a part-time job when he had first arrived in London a little over a year ago, despite being only fifteen years of age and having no experience. But Tintin had been desperate for work and the editor had needed someone who was fluent in both French and German for the international correspondence section.

When the new editor, James Thornton, had taken over after the former editor’s death Thornton had made it quite clear to Tintin that he didn’t want some young foreign upstart at his paper, and the only reason he didn’t fire Tintin on the spot was because his translation services were worth the meagre salary he paid the boy.

Tintin sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. He seriously doubted Thornton would reimburse him for travel expenses incurred as a result of kidnapping. He would just have to make due with a smaller paycheque for the next month. He and Snowy had been through much worse – at least this time they would have a roof over their head and hot meals courtesy of Mrs. Finch. 

The boy started when he felt a strong hand on his shoulder and turned to see Haddock looking at him in concern. “You alright there, landlubber?”

“Yes, thank you,” said Tintin. “I’m just a bit exhausted – I think everything’s caught up to me.”

The sailor nodded and then quickly pulled Tintin out of the way when more soldiers pushed through the crowd. Tintin looked around and spotted the Thom(p)sons speaking with the lieutenant on duty. He waved to the detectives and made his way over to them, Haddock following.

“Thomson and Thompson, would it be possible for me to send a few telegrams through the Interpol channel? I want to let my landlady and my editor know that I’m safe and that I’ll be coming home soon.”

“Of course, Tintin,” said Thomson. “We can go now if you like.”

“Quite right,” said Thompson. “We’ll go like if you now.”

“Captain Haddock, is there any message you’d like to send?” said Tintin, turning back to the older man.

“Er, yes…just one. I need to send a telegram to the merchant navy office in London,” said Haddock. “Might as well tell them now that the Karaboudjan has been found and that its crew is under arrest. Better they hear it from me than the papers. And,” he added grimly, “someone needs to inform Herbert Dawes’ wife that he was murdered, not drowned by accident.”

“We could that if you prefer, Captain-” began Thomson.

“No,” said Haddock, suddenly drawing himself up and glaring at the detectives fiercely. “Dawes was a member of my crew. It’s my responsibility as Captain.”

Tintin and the Thom(p)sons exchanged a surprised glance. Haddock had spoken with such authority that for a moment it had seemed as though he had never touched a drop of whiskey. Before either of them could respond, however, the lieutenant joined them.

“Excuse me,” said the lieutenant. “Major Deschamps wants to have a word with you lot.”

“What about?” said Tintin with a frown.

“You can ask him yourself. Here he comes now,” said the lieutenant, nodding towards a man who was making his way towards them.

Major Deschamps was a short, stocky man in his fifties but his stern face and posture made him seem twice as large. He studied the group for a moment before asking the lieutenant a question in French.

_“Have all of the crew been rounded up, Lieutenant?”_

_“Yes, Monsieur.”_

Deschamps nodded and turned back to the group.

“Are you Archibald Haddock, Captain of the _Karaboudjan?_ ” he asked, this time in English.

“Aye, that’s me.”

The major nodded to the soldiers. “Take him away.”

Haddock tensed as two armed legionnaires approached him but before a fight could break out Tintin stepped in front of Haddock.

“Wait, what are you doing? Where are you taking him?”

“He’s under arrest,” said Deschamps, his tone suggesting that the question was a very silly one.

“For what?” exclaimed Tintin. “Wait, surely you don’t think he was involved in the opium smuggling ring?”

Deschamps gave Tintin a withering glare, clearly unhappy at being questioned by a boy. “That’s exactly what I think. He is the ship’s captain, is he not?”

“Aye, but I didn’t know about the opium,” said Haddock. “And I sure as blazes didn’t know anything about one of my crewmen being murdered!”

“You mean to tell me that you had absolutely no idea of your crew’s malfeasance, or the fact that there was opium stored in your hold? Surely you don’t expect me to believe that. Why, you would had to have been drunk to not notice what was happening!”

When Haddock said nothing and only looked away the major’s incredulous expression faded to one of disgust. “You mean you actually were drunk the entire time? You, the captain?”

“Captain Haddock was held prisoner along with me aboard the _Karaboudjan,_ ” said Tintin, trying to salvage the situation. “He helped me to escape – Lieutenant Delcourt of the Afghar outpost can attest to that.”

“Be that as it may, I’m still not convinced that he is completely innocent. Arrest him,” said Deschamps, nodding towards the soldiers.

Tintin didn’t move from his spot in front of Haddock. In any other situation it would have been amusing, given that Tintin was a full head shorter than Haddock and yet was trying to protect him from two armed soldiers who were growing increasingly impatient.

“Haddock is a British citizen and I am a native of Belgium. With all due respect, Major, you do not have any authority over us.”

“No, but you _are_ in French territory and as such you are under my jurisdiction until you leave Morocco. Now stand aside, unless you want to be arrested as well.”

Tintin began to argue but Haddock stopped him. 

“Best to do as he says, lad,” said Haddock, gently but firmly pushing Tintin aside. “I’ve gotten you into enough trouble as it is.”

“But Captain…”

“Excuse me,” said a calm voice suddenly and the group looked up to see Mr. Kuraki step forward.

“I would also like to vouch for Captain Haddock, Major. During my imprisonment aboard his ship I overheard the first mate say several times that the captain was unaware of his crew’s misdeeds. He is innocent, I assure you.”

“Quite right, guilty until proven innocent!” said Thompson. “We’ll keep an eye on him if you like until we can arrange transportation back to London, Major.”

“Yes, we’ll answer for him,” added Thomson.

“Very well,” said Deschamps. “But I warn you,” he said, glaring at Haddock, “any further trouble out of you and I’ll have you thrown into a cell. And you’ll stay there for as long as necessary as it takes you to sober up, if that’s even possible.”

With that last cutting remark Deschamps turned on his heel and marched away, the lieutenant and remaining soldiers following him.

Tintin turned back to Mr. Kuraki and bowed to the older man.

“Thank you for your help, Mr. Kuraki. Safe journey back to Yokohama.”

“Safe journey for you and your friends, as well. Perhaps we shall meet again,” said Mr. Kuraki with a smile as he returned Tintin’s bow. “Here is my card. Should you even be in Japan and need assistance please don’t hesitate to ask.”

Kuraki gave the boy one final nod before disappearing into the crowd.

“Right,” said Thomson after a moment. “If you’ll give us your messages we’ll send them now, and see if we can’t arrange some transportation home for you as well.”

“Aren’t you returning with us?” said Tintin.

“Not just yet,” said Thomson. “Interpol would like us to remain here to oversee the arrests of the Golden Claws syndicate,” Thompson added proudly.

Tintin and Haddock wrote their individual messages down and gave them to the detectives, who assured them that they would be back in an hour after they had sent the telegrams and taken care of some other errands.

Haddock and Tintin were left in silence then, neither quite knowing what to say to the other. Fortunately they didn’t have to wait long. Less than thirty minutes had passed when the detectives returned.

“There’s a British merchant ship that is willing to take you back to England,” said Thomson. “It’s called the _Procella._ The captain sets sail at the next high tide.”

Haddock cursed and leapt to his feet. “Blistering barnacles, it’s high tide now! Come on, lad, we need to hurry if we’re to make that ship!”

Tintin ran off after the captain, Snowy barking excitedly at his heels. “Thanks Thomson and Thompson,” he called over his shoulder, waving to the detectives. “See you back in London!”

The captain of the _Procella_ was waiting for them when they boarded. Haddock stopped short when he caught sight of the captain. Tintin almost ran into Haddock’s back but caught himself just in time.

“Phillips,” said Haddock with a curt nod.

Captain Phillips’ thin mouth grew even thinner at the sight of Haddock.

“Haddock. Why am I not surprised? Lost your ship, have you?”

Tintin watched the exchange, suddenly feeling like an intruder. The tension between the two men was so thick it could have been cut with a knife.

“That’s no business of yours,” snapped Haddock, his fists clenched at his sides.

“No, but it is the merchant navy’s business. Your name won’t help you this time, Haddock. We’re through with you making a fool of yourself and making entire the merchant navy look like a bunch of drunken jackanapes.”

Tintin had heard enough. He stepped forward and gazed levelly at Phillips. “We appreciate you giving us passage back home on such short notice, Captain. I promise we won’t be an imposition.”

Phillips scowled at Tintin, eyeing the boy as one would an annoying fly.

“There’s no more bunks – you’ll have to make do in the cargo area until we dock in London. You’ll get three squares a day and that’s all I can offer.”

“That will be fine, thank you, Captain,” said Tintin. 

Phillips nodded and gave Haddock one last contemptuous look before going to see to the rest of his crew.

“Do you know Captain Phillips?” said Tintin.

“Yes,” was Haddock’s curt response and with that Tintin let it go. He had interviewed enough people to know when he had touched upon a sensitive subject and he had no wish to pry. But what had Phillips meant about Haddock’s name not being able to help him? Was the captain from a wealthy family?

Snowy whined at his feet and the boy bent down to stroke the dog reassuringly.

“Come on, Snowy, it’s not all bad,” said Tintin. He picked the dog up and followed Haddock who was navigating the bustling deck with ease. “We’ll be home in about…well, soon,” he said as he realized he didn’t know exactly how long they would be at sea.

“About seven days if the weather holds,” said Haddock. “Let’s get out of this lot’s way and see if we can find some supper.”

Haddock led them down to the cargo area, and while it was far cleaner than the _Karaboudjan’s_ hold it was still quite cold. Tintin shivered and wished again that he had his coat with him. 

No sooner had they entered than one of the crew members appeared. He handed them two rough sleeping rugs and a tray with two covered dishes. Before Tintin could thank him the sailor had slammed the door in his face.

“Well, here’s supper at least,” he said. Haddock took the lid off of one dish and grimaced. He took the dish and set it at Snowy’s feet. “Here, you little devil.”

Snowy sniffed curiously at the dish and then back away. He sat back on his haunches and gave Haddock a deeply offended look.

“Oh really, it can’t be that bad – ugh!” Tintin had taken a bite of the stew (at least that’s what he thought it was) and just barely kept from spitting it out.

Haddock shook his head. “Seems like old Phillips is determined to make our voyage an unpleasant one.”

Tintin watched as Haddock retreated to a corner of the hold and sat down on a crate, his head in his hands. He seemed so downhearted that Tintin wanted desperately to cheer him up, but he couldn’t think of anything that wouldn’t sound trite or insincere. He certainly didn’t blame the captain for Phillips’ actions, but he could also guess as to why Phillips had been so hostile towards them.

He knew that the British merchant navy was held in high regard for its service during the Great War – Captain Phillips probably felt that Haddock had damaged that reputation by allowing his ship to be overtaken. The boy decided that silence was the best comfort he could offer and wordlessly set one of the rugs down by Haddock’s feet. He then took his own rug and sat down on a crate across from Haddock.

Tintin wished he had his journal with him so that he could write down his thoughts while it was still fresh in his memory. He usually carried a small notebook and pencil with him whenever he went but he didn’t even have that. And his present company didn’t seem to be willing to offer any conversation.

He glanced at Haddock again and felt a twinge of worry. Haddock’s face was pale in the weak lamplight and covered with a faint sheen of sweat. His hands were trembling and he shifted restlessly back and forth.

“Captain, are you alright?”

Haddock nodded but didn’t answer, only swiping a hand roughly down his face.

“Do you want me to fetch the doctor?”

Haddock laughed. “The only medicine I need is a drink, lad.”

Tintin didn’t answer, unsure of what to say. He had heard of men going mad when they went too long without drink, sometimes even hallucinating or hearing voices that were not there. Tintin suddenly realized that Haddock could have very well been suffering the symptoms of alcohol withdrawal when they were lost in the desert. Certainly the heat hadn’t helped any – it would also explain why Haddock had thought Tintin was a bottle of champagne and had nearly strangled him.

Tintin yawned and rubbed at his eyes. He was exhausted and wanted nothing more than a hot meal and a warm bed. Unfortunately it would be about a week before they reached England so for now ship’s fare and a thin sleeping rug were all he had.

Much like he had done during his escape from the _Karaboudjan’s_ hold, Tintin looked around to see what he had to work with. He found a full sack of flour and a heavy mat and dragged both items to a corner. The sack would do very well for a pillow and the mat would suffice as a mattress. Tintin sat down on his impromptu bed and pulled off his shoes before laying down. Snowy immediately lay down next to him and the boy curled deeper into his rug, glad at least for the small but warm body of Snowy curled up next to him.

“Good night, Captain,” he said but there was no answer in response.

********

Haddock sighed and glanced at the window. By the weak light he estimated that it was just before dawn. There would be few crewmen on deck at this hour and he needed some fresh air. He hadn’t been able to sleep for want of drink and he hated how desperate he felt to find even a drop of whiskey, or even wine. He didn’t even have his pipe to help distract him from the aching craving in his gut.

A soft rustle made him glance at Tintin, who was still fast asleep. His rug was wrapped tightly around him but Haddock could see that the boy was still shivering.

Haddock stood and made his way to the boy’s side. He carefully draped his own unused rug over Tintin, careful not to wake the boy. He wasn’t using it so best that it go to the scrawny slip of a lad, he reasoned. Snowy gave a soft whuff of appreciation and Haddock patted the dog’s head before leaving to find them some breakfast.

********

When Tintin woke the next morning Haddock was gone but his rug was draped over Tintin’s own. No wonder he hadn’t felt cold last night. Touched by the gesture, Tintin carefully folded both rugs before standing and stretching. He went upstairs onto the deck, where the cold fresh air quickly awakened him.

“Excuse me,” he said to one of the sailors. “Have you seen the captain?”

The sailor arched an eyebrow. “Captain Phillips?”

“No, sorry, I meant Captain Haddock.”

“He’s back aft,” said the sailor, jerking his chin in the direction of the ship’s aft. The boy looked to see Haddock staring out at the sea, his arms crossed over the ship’s rail. He looked terribly lonely.

Tintin thanked the sailor and slowly made his way towards Haddock, uncertain if the older man wanted company.

“Good morning, Captain,” said Tintin.

“Morning lad. Sleep well?”

When Tintin just gave the captain a look Haddock managed a laugh. “I know it’s rough quarters. I wish I could do something about it, but knowing Phillips he’d just toss us both on our backsides at the nearest port.”

“Would he really?”

Haddock shrugged. “I didn’t think so once, but Phillips hasn’t been the same since…well, that’s not my story to tell.”

Tintin nodded and gazed out at the sea, lost in thought. Soon he noticed a large, dark shape gliding smoothly through the sky towards them. As it drew closer Tintin realized that it was an albatross. He expected it to keep flying past them, but to his amazement the beautiful bird landed on the railing only a few inches from where Tintin’s hand rested. The albatross flapped its enormous wings before folding them and tilting its head curiously at Tintin.

“Thundering typhoons,” said Haddock in a low voice. “I’ve never seen an albatross land on a ship like this. They love to follow ships for days on end, you know.”

“Really?” said Tintin, also keeping his voice low so as not to frighten the bird.

“Aye. You know, there’s an old legend that says albatrosses are the souls of sailors who drowned at sea. That’s why it’s such bad luck to harm them.”

The albatross preened its plumage for a few moments before expanding its wings in preparation for flight. Tintin had to step back to avoid being smacked by one of the bird’s massive wings. And then the bird was gone, soaring and dipping amongst the waves.

Haddock and Tintin watched the bird until it disappeared from their sight before the former turned to go. Tintin started to call after him but stopped, sensing that Haddock wanted to be alone.

The boy sighed. It was going to be a long trip back home.

********

_London, England_

_11 April 1934_

The city’s clocks had just finished ringing five o’clock in the morning when Tintin opened the door to his flat, every step feeling like a marathon. Snowy trotted in after the boy, although at a slower pace than his usual excited canter.

Tintin let his bag drop from his shoulder to the floor, deciding to leave it there for now. Every muscle in his body ached and he was so hungry that he felt like he could eat one of Snowy’s favourite rawhide bones. He seriously doubted that he had the energy to even bathe and change out of his sweat-and-dust covered clothes.

Haddock had bid him a curt farewell once they had docked and had disappeared into the foggy air before Tintin could so much as utter a “farewell”. He wasn’t miffed at the older man’s curt dismissal. Haddock had a great deal to focus on now that an inquiry was to be set over the _Karaboudjan_ affair. Tintin couldn’t blame the captain for wanting to be alone. But he still wished he had a chance to say goodbye. He wasn’t sure when, or if, he would see Haddock again.

To his surprise Mrs. Finch was up waiting for him, reading a book by the burning fireplace.

“So you are alive,” she said drily, closing her book as she stood. She held up a hand as Tintin started to apologise for worrying her.

“It’s quite alright, Tintin. Lords knows I should be used to your escapades by now. And no, you didn’t wake me. You know I’m an early riser.”

Mrs. Finch took the boy’s bag and coat and set them aside before gesturing to the kitchen. “There’s a pot of fresh tea and sandwiches in the kitchen. Don’t worry about the dishes, and leave your clothes in the basket so that I can wash them.”

“Yes, ma’am,” said Tintin, unable to hold back a grin. Mrs. Finch truly was an amazing woman. The landlady had a soft spot though she hid it well beneath her austere exterior. More than once Tintin had come back to his flat after a long day to find a hot pot of tea or a tray of sandwiches waiting for him. He never said anything to Mrs. Finch and she never did to him. It was just her way. And in truth Tintin had always felt touched by the woman’s silent gestures of kindness.

“Thank you, Mrs. Finch,” said Tintin as he sat down at the kitchen table. “You’re a wonder.”

“Hmm, so they tell me,” she said though she tried not to smile. “Oh, and Mr. Thornton rang yesterday afternoon,” she added. “Says he wants to see you in his office first thing tomorrow morning.”

Tintin resisted the very childish urge to roll his eyes, or better yet mutter one of Haddock’s curses. He knew exactly what his editor wanted and it was basically to insult Tintin’s work ethic, professionalism and overall common sense. Thornton never missed an opportunity to belittle the boy and the only reason Tintin hadn’t given the man his resignation was that he needed a steady income.

“And there’s one more thing, I’m afraid,” said Mrs. Finch, holding out a letter to the boy.

“This came for you yesterday as well,” she said. “It was hand delivered and the messenger was insistent that it was to be placed directly into your hand. Good night, or rather good morning, Tintin,” she said before retreating to her own quarters to finish her reading.

“Thank you again, Mrs. Finch,” Tintin called after he, turning the letter over curiously. The paper was of high quality and the wax seal bore the official arms of the merchant navy. Tintin suddenly recalled Haddock’s words about being forced to answer for the Karaboudjan’s loss and Tintin opened the letter with a growing sense of uneasiness.

_‘Dear Sir,_

_You are hereby requested to present yourself on the 23rd of April 1934 to speak at the inquiry into the merchant ship Karaboudjan, including those actions taken upon its crew and master. Failure to answer this summons without just cause will result in your person being held in contempt of His Majesty’s Secretary of State, which may result in fines and or imprisonment of your person. Please arrive at nine on the date indicated at St. Helen’s Court, Great St. Helen’s, London, E-C-3._

_Signed,_

_Jonathan Edwards, Master Seaman_

_For: British India Steam Navigation Company Limited’_

Tintin sighed and carefully folded the letter before placing it on the table. It seemed that he would be seeing Captain Haddock again, but not under the best of circumstances. He suddenly realized that he could very well be asked to speak against Haddock at the inquiry and the very thought made him sick to his stomach. He didn’t know Haddock well but Tintin had seen glimpses of a man who had a strong sense of duty that was matched only by his love of the sea. Tintin wondered what Haddock had been like before the drink had taken hold of him. Would this drive the captain even further into his cups?

The boy groaned and held his face in his hands. Snowy placed his paws on his master’s knees, his head tilted as if to say, “What’s the matter?”

“What a mess, Snowy,” he said, stroking the dog’s chin. Snowy whined in agreement.


	2. The Captain of the 'Karaboudjan'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a bit shorter than usual – more of an interlude, really. I’m trying to focus more on quality, rather than quantity, and not worry so much about word count. My muse has decided to take this story in a different direction and it is turning out to be longer than I had originally planned for, but that just means more moments between our favourite duo! I also enjoyed exploring Haddock’s past and hope readers enjoy this latest instalment. Thank you again for reading and reviewing!

_London, England_

_12 April 1934_

Haddock watched as Katherine “Kate” Dawes wiped her eyes with a worn handkerchief. He was sitting in the Dawes’ small but comfortable sitting room and while he had known Kate and her husband for over five years this was the first time he had paid a visit to their home. Haddock knew that he had done the right thing when he had taken it upon himself to notify the poor woman that her husband had been murdered. He had meant what he had said to those two bumbling detectives in Morocco – he was Dawes’ captain and it was his responsibility to let Dawes’ wife know the true fate of her husband. It wasn’t the first time Haddock had found himself in this situation – since becoming a captain ten years ago Haddock had told two other women that their husbands had been lost at sea. But that didn’t make it any easier.

Kate took one last shuddering breath and finally looked up at Haddock, her eyes red but her face composed. Like most sailors’ wives she was accustomed to hardship and the dangers that men like her husband faced at sea.

“Thank you, Captain Haddock, for telling me in person,” she said, her voice shaking only slightly. She looked down at the handkerchief she clutched in her rough, work-worn hands.

“Captain Haddock, what about Herbert’s pension?” she said after a moment, looking back up at the man who sat across from her. “It’s been over a month already and I haven’t received anything from the merchant navy. I sent a letter a fortnight ago but they haven’t answered yet.”

Haddock frowned. The bureaucrats at the merchant navy office in London were well known for their love of rules and regulations, but to keep a widow from receiving her husband’s pension was simply absurd, not to mention cruel and petty.

He reached forward and patted Kate’s hand. “Now, don’t you worry about that,” he said. “I’ll speak to the naval office; I’m sure they’re just being slow as usual. You know how those pen-pushing politicians are,” he added, trying to smile but failing.

Kate gave Haddock a small smile in return regardless but then her expression suddenly changed. “Captain Haddock, what if they think Herbert was involved in the opium smuggling? They won’t pay out his pension if they find out Herbert was knowingly involved…” her voice trailed off.

Haddock shifted uneasily in his chair. This was the one topic he had wanted to avoid at all costs but now there was no escaping it.

“Captain, tell me the truth,” said Kate. “ _Was_ Herbert involved in the smuggling?”

Haddock hesitated, wanting to spare her feelings but knowing that Kate would accept nothing but the truth from him. And while he was many things, a liar wasn’t one of them.

“I think he saw an easy way to earn some extra money,” he said slowly. “But also that he didn’t know what he was getting into. Of that I _am_ certain,” said Haddock firmly.

Kate stared levelly at Haddock for a moment and then sighed heavily, shaking her head. “Money has been tight of late, but Herbert shouldn’t have taken it so far. We would have been alright,” she said, closing her eyes tightly for a moment.

“I’ll speak to the naval office first thing tomorrow morning,” Haddock assured her as he stood to go. “Is there anything else I can do for you in the meantime?”

Kate shook her head. “Thank you but no. I know that you have your own worries to deal with at the present, Captain. Thank you again for coming.”

Haddock nodded and followed Kate to the door. He started down the steps when Kate called after him.

“Captain Haddock,” she said from the doorway. The sailor paused and turned halfway back up the steps.

“I don’t care what those high-brow officers at the naval office say, or the press for that matter,” Kate said in a firm tone. “My husband always said you were a fine captain and that he wouldn’t sail with anyone else.”

Haddock couldn’t speak so he only nodded and tipped his cap to her. After Kate had gone back inside he finished his slow descent down the steps, suddenly feeling every single one of his thirty-eight years and then some. When he reached the bottom he paused to light his pipe. Aside from alcohol tobacco was the only other comfort he had right now.

He had received a telegraph from the naval office while on board the _Procella_ (handed to him by a smirking Phillips, no less), ordering him to appear at an official hearing in just over a week. There had also been a warning not to speak to any members of the press until after the hearing. It was one reason why Haddock had been so curt with Tintin and had left the confused boy as soon as they had docked in England. Better that they part ways now so the boy wouldn’t get it into his head to press Haddock for more details about the opium smuggling.

He briefly wondered how that young reporter was getting on. Probably already typing up his story on the _Karaboudjan_ and Haddock’s role in it, he thought bitterly.

But no, Haddock told himself – that wasn’t fair. Tintin hadn’t seemed liked the type of person who would exploit a person’s misfortune for his own benefit. And he had defended Haddock against both that pompous French major and Captain Phillips. Haddock gritted his teeth at the thought of the sea captain – seeing Phillips had been the final blow to his already damaged pride. He had hoped that time had eased the man’s hatred of him but apparently not.

A cold gust of wind made Haddock turn up the collar of his coat. He tugged his hat lower over his eyes and stuck his hands in his pockets as he started off down the street. But instead of making his way back to his flat he turned and headed towards a tavern he knew. Drinking was probably the last thing he should be doing but Haddock didn’t have anything else to turn to. Reading was the only other diversion he could enjoy on his meagre pay, which along with his career was currently on hold.

The tavern was a favourite of sailors who were stuck on shore leave while waiting for cargo or new assignments, or just wanted an escape (either in alcohol or in the arms of an obliging lady) for one night before they had to return to the long, often mundane days at sea. Haddock had been there often enough that the bartender recognized him and nodded to him.

A glass of whiskey was placed in front of Haddock when he sat down at the bar. He downed it one long gulp before setting the glass back down with a thump. The bartender didn’t even blink as he refilled the glass. Haddock noticed out of the corner of his eye that some of the sailors were casting wary glances at him as they talked with each other. Haddock had to struggle not to fidget – the papers had been alarmingly fast in spreading word about the _Karaboudjan_ despite Haddock’s efforts to keep it under wraps while he informed his superiors of the situation. Apparently he hadn’t been fast enough. He was certain that he was now the laughing stock of the entire British merchant navy, and he had no one to blame but himself.

Haddock sighed as he stared into his glass, watching how the low lamplight turned the whiskey to a shining amber colour. When had his life gotten to this point? And how in God’s name could he have missed the fact that an innocent boy had been taken hostage on his ship, much less the opium smuggling? Haddock’s stomach churned at the thought of what Allan might have done to Tintin had the young reporter not been able to escape and find Haddock. The very thought of an innocent boy being harmed or killed on his ship sickened Haddock.

There was a saying from the old days that his grandfather had once told Haddock – that a captain was everything to his crew. A captain was responsible for the safety and wellbeing of every single soul aboard his ship, and would often take on the role of doctor, judge and pastor when the occasion called for it. Haddock had failed in every way that mattered as a sea captain and he wasn’t sure if he would ever recover from the shame and guilt that hung over him.

Haddock finally looked up and wordlessly raised his glass to the bartender, singling for another drink.


	3. Back at Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m back with Ch. 3! I apologize for taking so long to update this story, dear readers. Real life took up most of my time for a while, combined with a severe case of writer’s block for this fic. The plot has become more complex and elaborate than I had initially planned, and I had to do some historical research for these next few chapters.
> 
> I hope you enjoy this latest installment, and thank you again for your patience while I worked on this chapter. Enjoy!

**III. Back at Home**

_London, England  
12 April, 1934_

“Tintin, you’re alive!”

“By Jove, lad, it’s good to see you!”

“How many lives is that now? Better keep count, laddie!”

Tintin smiled at the good-natured ribbing from his colleagues as he entered the workroom of _The Daily News._ It was only five minutes past eight but the staff work room was already filled with the sounds of typewriters, phones ringing, paper being shuffled, and a dozen other familiar sounds that Tintin had missed during his unexpected hiatus overseas.

Weber, a senior staff writer for the political section, nodded to the boy as Tintin hung up his coat and starting rifling through the enormous stack of mail on his desk. One of Tintin’s duties was to review and sort through correspondence from Europe and forward any intriguing stories to Weber for possible publication. Being fluent in both French and German, Tintin was able to complete the task twice as quickly as some of the more senior staff. 

Before he could make a dent in the stack, however, Weber tapped the boy on the shoulder.

“Mr. Thornton wants to see you, best not to keep him waiting.”

Tintin nodded and took a deep breath. _‘Once more unto the breach,’_ he thought wryly as he went down a small corridor, stopping in front of a door.

He knocked once and stepped inside at the barked, “Enter!”

James Thornton, senior editor for _The Daily News,_ was a sharply dressed man in his late thirties. When Tintin had first met the man he had thought Thornton looked more the part of a banker or politician. Lord knows the man was cut-throat and tight-fisted enough to fulfill either of those roles.

Thornton, who was on the phone, when Tintin entered, waved the boy into a seat. Tintin waited until Thornton was finished with his call and lit a cigarette. Judging by the already full ashtray Tintin suspected Thornton had worked through the night and thus was not in the best of moods.  
“Well, what’s the explanation this time? Chicago gangsters? Hidden treasure? No, let me guess - a mysterious relic deep in the Amazon jungle?,” he added when Tintin tried to speak.

“Nothing as exciting as all that, I’m afraid,” said Tintin.

“Well, let’s hear it then,” said Thornton with a sigh. He leaned back in his chair and listened as Tintin described the events leading to his capture and arrival in Morocco. Tintin was careful to give as little information about Haddock as possible. Thornton was too experienced to be fooled, however; he knew Tintin was deliberately withholding certain details about his adventure.

“Well, at least you can give an inside perspective to this debacle,” said Thornton once Tintin had finished. “Word has it the merchant navy is furious over the whole thing. Every newshound in the city is all over this story.

“Fortunately for me I have an insider’s account,” he added, his dark eyes gleaming.

“You’ll give a complete write-up of the account,” said Thornton. “I want it on my desk by this time tomorrow.”

“I’m sorry, but I cannot,” said Tintin, causing Thornton to pause in the lighting of another cigarette.

“Excuse me?” he said.

“I’m forbidden from speaking to other members of the press, or the general public, about the _Karaboudjan_ affair until after the inquiry,” said Tintin. “I’m only telling you the basics so that you know I didn’t take off from work willingly.”

Tintin pulled the summons from his coat pocket and handed it to Thornton. “I’m sure you wouldn’t want The Daily News to get into trouble with the authorities about pressuring a witness into giving information,” he added, holding Thornton’s gaze.

“Fine,” said Thornton, tossing the summons back to Tintin.

“If that’s all then, please excuse me,” said Tintin as he started to rise from his chair, but froze at Thornton’s next remark.

“Oh, and the time you missed will be taken out of your paycheque for this month.”

Tintin’s face paled. “But that will cut my pay nearly in half!”

Thornton shrugged. “Such is life, my boy. If it bothers you that much you’re welcome to quit, although I have it on good authority that no newspaper will hire someone who attracts as much trouble as you.”

Tintin swallowed but chose to ignore Thornton’s jab, instead saying, “I have to appear at the inquiry on the twenty-third. May I have leave as I’m liable to be held in contempt if I don’t appear?”

Thornton shrugged. “You may, but I don’t have to pay for a day of no work.”

Tintin gritted his teeth but refused to give into his rising temper or let his anger show on his face. He had been determined to show Thornton that he was a mature and capable worker despite his youth and knew that the older man was deliberately trying to goad him into making him lose his temper.

Well, Thornton would just have to keep trying, Tintin thought.

Tintin nodded and stood to go, but stopped at the door when Thornton called after him.

“Oh, and by the way - your coworkers had to take on your work during your little ‘vacation’. See to it that you catch up within three days or you’ll be back out on the streets begging for a job again.”

Tintin winced but said nothing as he left the office, closing the door quietly behind him.

********

“Was it that bad, son?” said one man, raising a grizzled brow when Tintin re-entered the workroom.

Tintin shrugged as he sat down at his tiny desk. “No worse than usual,” he said, attempting for levity but knowing he wasn’t quite able to manage it.

Weber lingered as the rest of the staff returned their attention to their work. “Are you certain you’re well? You were not harmed during your...ah, trip?” Weber’s gaze drifted down and Tintin knew he was looking at the dark bruises on his neck.

“Yes, you’re as white as a sheet, Tintin,” said another man.

“I’m fine, really,” said Tintin as he pulled his typewriter towards him and began to load paper into it. “And I doubt I’m as white as sheet, considering I nearly burned to a crisp in the desert!

“But I won’t be fine if I don’t get these articles in by Thornton’s deadline,” he added dryly, fingers already flying over the keys.

Tintin worked until nearly seven that night, partly because he knew Thornton was serious about his threat to fire Titin, but also partly to help distract him from his morose thoughts about Haddock and the inquiry.

When Tintin finally returned to Labrador road the local church bells were ringing half past seven. Mrs. Finch was in the kitchen polishing some china when Tintin came in and sat down at the table. The boy sighed and took a deep breath before speaking.

“Mrs. Finch, about this month’s rent…”

Mrs. Finch arched a silver brow. “I take it that Thornton cut your paycheque again due to your….unexpected absence?”

Tintin nodded and rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m sorry, I know it’s an imposition,” he began but the woman shook her head.

“Nevermind Tintin. You know my terms - pay the rent when you can. We’ll manage until then.”

The boy nodded but felt his gut churn with guilt. The monthly rent he paid to Mrs. Finch was his landlady’s only means of income, and even without being docked half a month’s salary his pay wasn’t that much. 

“Here now, no long faces, young man,” said Mrs. Finch, setting down her polishing cloth and poking Tintin firmly in the shoulder. “Tis not your doing, even if trouble does follow you around like a shadow. Now get some rest,” she said, nudging Tintin again so that he was forced to rise from his chair.

“As you like, Mrs. Finch,” said Tintin with a small smile. “Good night.”

Before he left he could hear Mrs. Finch muttering about “slimy, unethical editors” and something about “...give him a piece of my mind, the tight-fisted miser…”

Biting his cheek to keep from laughing out loud, Tintin went upstairs to his room. The one thing that he appreciated most about Mrs. Finch was that she treated him like an adult; she never coddled nor fussed over him, and yet still managed to show her care in a hundred small ways. When Tintin had first approached her a year ago about renting a floor of her house the woman had clearly been skeptical about his youth. Nonetheless, Mrs. Finch had agreed to take him on as a tenant when Tintin had provided her with proof of employment and a (somewhat) steady paycheque.

Tintin’s humour faded as his gaze drifted to the drawer of his writing desk, where the summons was safely locked away. He had done some perusing of the newspapers between catching up on his work and every story he read was filled about ugly assumptions about Haddock’s character and his role in the opium smuggling. Tintin felt absolutely sick reading some of the stories but there was nothing he could do, at least until after the inquiry.

No matter how busy Tintin was in the following weeks the impending hearing was constantly in his thoughts. Thornton had been true to his word and had kept Tintin working from dawn until dusk every day. Weber and some of the other staff had done their best to ease the workload but Tintin knew that if Thornton found out he was being helped it would come down on his coworkers’ heads.

Not even the reports of a monster dwelling in Loch Ness of Scotland could distract Tintin. He had taken one look at the photograph that had been published in _The Daily Mail_ and had decided that the supposed “monster” was nothing more than a clever forgery.

Even if he had wanted to contact Haddock Tintin knew it would only go badly for the older man. Tintin wasn’t sure why he was so upset over the situation; of course he didn’t like to see someone accused and judged without a fair defense, but he hardly knew Haddock. And even though Haddock had made things difficult at times during their escape Tintin couldn’t help but remember the glimpses of an intelligent and fiercely proud man who clearly loved being at sea.

Between running errands for Thornton and his own work, Tintin had made a few subtle inquiries of his own through the merchant navy’s public records. He had been able to piece together a professional history about Haddock and what he saw deeply impressed the boy. Haddock was currently under contract with the British India Steam Navigation Company, but had also worked for the Indo-China Steam Navigation Company, Cunard Steamship Company and Caledonian MacBrayne. 

He had even had some involvement during the Great War; Tintin had wondered if maybe that had contributed to Haddock’s drinking. Tintin had once interviewed an old soldier who had served in France during the war and was so disturbed by the soldier’s account that he hadn’t slept at all that night.

Tintin sighed and leaned back in his desk chair as he tossed aside another distasteful article about Haddock and the Karaboudjan. He hated feeling so helpless and was certain Haddock felt just as badly, if not worse, than Tintin did. 

Tintin just hoped Haddock wasn’t drinking himself into an early grave. After all, Tintin still needed to thank the man for his help. And Tintin did want to see Haddock again.

********

_23 April, 1934_

The morning of the hearing found Tintin up by six o’clock. He had slept badly the night before but Mrs. Finch kindly didn’t comment on the dark shadows under his eyes, instead merely putting a brimming full coffee cup in front of him. She frowned when Tintin refused breakfast, however, and gave him a bag of sandwiches to take with him, her expression daring Tintin to argue with her.

Tintin straightened the collar of his brown jacket as he studied his reflection in the mirror that stood in the foyer. The suit was simple and practical but it was still the best one he had. He only hoped it made him look older than he actually was. He had just turned sixteen in January but more often than not he still felt very much like a child. As he studied his reflection a snide voice in his head told Tintin that he was only a little boy pretending to be a man. Tintin quickly dismissed the thought; he was young, yes, but not a child. Something in between a boy and a man, then.

“Alright Snowy, you behave for Mrs. Finch and I’ll see you later,” said Tinin, kneeling down in front of the terrier and giving him several rubs. The inquiry would not allow animals into the building so Tintin was forced to leave him behind. Snowy whined but obediently didn’t follow as Tintin left and began walking down the street towards St. Helen’s court.

It was a cool, brisk morning but with his coat and thermos of coffee Tintin enjoyed the walk, but as he approached the court his thoughts became more grim. He just couldn’t help shake the feeling that he was betraying Haddock in some way, even though Tintin knew the idea was silly.

At the gate Tintin showed the guard his summons and was directed past the courtyard and into the large, spacious hall. Another guard stopped Tintin and after reading the boy’s summons instructed Tintin to wait along one of the benches until he was called.

As he waited the hall gradually filled with people and Tintin occupied himself by trying to guess each person’s occupation. Aside from the guards and solicitors there was people of all walks, from simple sailors and merchants to wealthy men and women.

“Shouldn’t you be in school, boy?”

Startled, Tintin looked up from the window that he had been gazing out of turned and to see a tall, fair-haired man standing next to him.

It took a moment for Tintin to place the man – it was Captain Phillips of the _Procella._

Choosing the ignore Phillip’s earlier remark, Tintin gave the man a nod. “Good morning, Captain Phillips,” he said.

“What are you doing here? This is no place for a boy your age.”

Bristling at the rude and invasive question, Tintin nevertheless tried to maintain a civil tone. There were too many people around and he couldn’t risk saying anything that might damage Haddock’s chances with the hearing.

“I’m here due to an official summons as a witness,” said Tintin curtly. 

“Ah, about Haddock’s hearing I’ll wager.”

Tintin said nothing. Phillips, sensing he wasn’t going to get anything further out of Tintin, continued.

“Do yourself a favour and stay away from Haddock, boy.”

“Who I keep company with is none of your business, Captain,” said Tintin.

Phillips’ eyes narrowed. He was a captain and was used to not being questioned, but Tintin wasn’t one of his sailors and he wasn’t about to let Phillips bully him. The older man took a step closer and Tintin was forced to give ground until he felt his back press against the wall.

Tintin held his ground; he wasn’t easily intimidated but there was something cold and calculating about Phillips that made him deeply uneasy. Tintin suddenly thought of a tightly wound coil that could spring apart at any moment. 

“I’ve heard about you, you’re a reporter or something aren’t you? We sailors don’t like nosy little upstarts like you getting involved in our affairs. Be careful what you write about this mess, boy - I won’t have the merchant navy’s reputation sullied any more than it already has been.”

“I am required to be here, Captain Phillips,” said Tintin, keeping his back straight and staring boldly back at the much taller and bigger man. “And I assure you that I have no other motives other to tell the truth and nothing else.”

“We’ll see about that; I have an ear with the naval board and I’m going to make sure Haddock never sails again.”

Phillips turned to go but Tintin’s comment stopped him.

“Why do you dislike Haddock so much? Is one mistake worth ruining a man’s life over? I thought sailors were supposed to look out for each other. Or is that only when it’s convenient for men like you?”

Phillips suddenly whirled around and grabbed Tintin by the collar and pushed the boy hard against the wall.

“You don’t know anything about me, boy,” snapped the older man, giving Tintin a hard shake that nearly lifted him off of his feet.

Before Tintin could react to the rough treatment he suddenly found himself stumbling back as Phillips’ grip was broken. A figure quickly inserted himself between Tintin and Phillips and the boy’s eyes went wide in surprise.

It was Haddock - but he was hardly recognizable to Tintin. He was wearing his dress uniform and had obviously made an attempt to trim his beard and tidy his hair. 

“That’s enough, Phillips,” said Haddock in a dangerous tone that would have made any sailor snap to immediate attention.

Phillips scowled but took a step back; he and Haddock were equally matched in height but Haddock was more heavily built. In a fight Phillips would have the disadvantage. He glared at Haddock with such open disdain that for a moment Tintin feared that there really would be a row.

But instead Phillips turned his icy gaze to back to Tintin. “Stay out of my business, boy. And as for you, Haddock, your days in the merchant navy are done.”

With that Phillips turned and stalked away, ignoring the murmurs and looks of several bystanders.

Haddock turned back to Tintin who was attempting to straighten his rumpled collar.

“You alright, lad?”

“Yes, thank you,” said Tintin. He was trying hard not to stare at Haddock. He just looked so...different than when he had first met him on the Karaboudjan. Tintin found himself standing straighter in the older man’s presence; he suddenly looked every inch a true sea captain.

“You’re not hurt?”

“No, no, just startled - after all, it wasn’t the first time someone has tried to strangle me,” Tintin said with a dry laugh, thinking back on some of his recent adventures. But no sooner had he spoken than Haddock’s face paled and he winced and looked away.

“Captain, I didn’t mean - that is…” Tintin stammered, knowing that Haddock could see the fading bruises on Tintin’s neck from their time in the desert.

“Captain Haddock, please forgive me, I wasn’t thinking,” the boy said but stopped when Haddock held up a hand.

“It’s alright, laddie,” said Haddock, suddenly looking very old and weary. “I know you meant no harm. I’m honestly surprised you can even stand to be near me.”

Before Tintin could respond Haddock sighed and ran a hand through his hair.

“Well, the hearing will start shortly. I had better go.” 

“Captain?”

Haddock paused and turned back to the boy.

 _“Bonne chance,”_ said Tintin.

Haddock attempted a smile but it quickly faded when a man called him into the room.

After the door had closed Tintin sighed and sat down on a bench. He pulled a book out of his bag and attempted to focus on it as the minutes ticked by with agonizing slowness. Agatha Christie had just published a new novel - _Murder on the Orient Express_ \- but despite the exciting plot Tintin simply couldn’t focus on the words. Eventually he gave up and put the book away.

Tintin started to pace but quickly stopped himself and sat back down. If he was going to be of any help to Haddock he needed a clear head. He wouldn’t lie, but nor would he allow Haddock’s name to be utterly ruined by one mistake.

After what seemed like hours the door to the court room opened and a small, beady-eye man poked his head out.

“Tintin?”

“Yes, that’s me.”

The man, obviously a clerk, gave Tintin a dubious look, clearly wondering if this boy was even old enough to tie his own shoelaces.

“They’re ready for you.”

Tintin nodded, gave his jacket one final tug to smooth out any wrinkles, and followed the man inside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some historical notes on this chapter:
> 
> The 1st BBC radio broadcast occurred on January 16, 1934 from Stoke-on-Trent.
> 
> The famous “surgeon’s photograph” of the Loch Ness monster did indeed appear in the ‘Daily Mail’ on April 21, 1934.
> 
> Agatha Christie published ‘Murder on the Orient Express’ on January 1, 1934. I could easily see Tintin picking up this novel. :)
> 
> Some readers have inquired about the location and timeline of my Tintin stories. While some of my stories don’t really focus on specific dates, this particular story is placed in the mid-1930s for several reasons. First, the background and technology that appears in the CWTGC comic seem to fit with this particular era. Second, I wanted to make Haddock old enough to have experienced WWI, which will be explored further in this fic. ;)
> 
> Tintin’s living in London is based on my childhood memories of the Tintin books. When I first read the stories as a very young child I just assumed that Tintin lived in London and Haddock in the English countryside based on the English translations of “pound”, “shire”, “Marlinshire”, etc. And by the time I reread the comics as an adult I had a better understanding of the comics’ origins and settings.
> 
> But since Herge was very inconsistent with timelines in the comics I felt it was okay to tweak the setting a bit. No disrespect is meant to the comics or Herge and I have made every effort to remain as true to Canon as possible.
> 
> Also, in all of my stories Tintin is Belgian by birth and nationality. With Haddock I felt I had a bit more free reign, since as far as I know Herge never specified Haddock’s background. So for my own headcanon Haddock is a citizen of the United Kingdom and has Scottish and English ancestry.


	4. Judgement

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m sorry again for the delays, folks. This chapter was extremely hard to write and while I’m not entirely satisfied with it I do want to move on to the rest of the story and get the rest of the plot moving. I could find very little information on the process of court martials and hearings for the British merchant navy, so any historical errors are my own. As always, I hope you enjoy and thank you for reading.

Haddock was still fuming as he followed the clerk into the room where the hearing was being held. He hadn’t expected to see the boy reporter, Tintin, at the hearing. Or maybe he had just been hoping that the boy wouldn’t be called as a witness, even though he knew it was extremely unlikely. Tintin was the only other person besides Haddock who could testify as to the events surrounding the _Karaboudjan._ A niggling voice in Haddock’s head whispered that the real reason he hadn’t wanted to see Tintin was that he didn’t want the boy to think any less of him than he surely already must. It was one of the main reasons Haddock had not attempted to speak with Tintin since they had returned to London, even though he felt badly about leaving the boy so abruptly on the docks. But truthfully he had more pressing matters to worry about.

Since returning from Morocco Haddock had been fighting off reporters tooth and nail; no matter where he went there was a journalist demanding a statement from him, hounding him day and night. It had gotten to the point that Haddock had not left his flat for nearly three days.

By the time the day of the hearing had arrived Haddock had been ready to deck the first blood-thirsty newshound that came in sight. The sight of Phillips threatening a boy half his size had sent Haddock’s frayed temper over the edge and it had taken all of Haddock’s control not to strangle the other captain.

Haddock’s thoughts were interrupted as he stepped into the courtroom, stopping short in the doorway. The clerk bumped into his back with an irritated squawk but Haddock ignored him. The courtroom was packed full; he hadn’t thought there would be this many people.

The clerk poked Haddock in the back and he stepped aside, following the much shorter man into the room and to a seat at one of the long tables that faced a raised dais. Four men, captains no doubt, sat behind the dais. None of them looked particularly sympathetic; their expressions were unreadable as Haddock’s solicitor began to make his opening remarks.

Haddock sighed and prepared himself for a very, very long morning.

********

As Tintin entered the courtroom he tried hard not to let his anxiety show. Although this wasn’t the first time he had been in a courtroom, or had served as a witness, it was the first time that his testimony might ruin the life of someone that…well, wasn’t exactly a friend, but still a good person.

Tintin caught a glimpse of Haddock out of the corner of his eye as he followed the clerk to the witness box. The older man looked exhausted and Tintin suspected that Haddock had been questioned unmercifully for the past three hours.

Tintin immediately noticed the four imposing men who sat at the front of the courtroom. Judging from their demeanors and uniforms Tintin guessed that they were captains of the merchant navy. The men eyed Tintin coolly and the boy tried hard not to fidget; he suddenly felt very, very young when faced with these seasoned sea captains.

Once the court had been called to order one of the captains, a middle-aged man with dark brown hair and bright green eyes, turned and nodded to Tintin.

“This hearing is now back in session. For those of you who have just arrived, I am Captain Jonathan Edwards. These gentlemen next to me are Captains George Blake, James Pearson, and Ian Riordan,” said Edwards, nodding to each man as he spoke their names. “Mr. Wilkes, you may begin your questioning of the witness.”

Mr. Wilkes, the solicitor for the merchant navy, nodded to the captains before approaching the witness box where Tintin sat.

“Please state your full name for the court.”

“Justin Donadieu.”

“Your age?”

“Sixteen.”

Haddock stiffened in his seat, his eyes widening. Sixteen? He had thought the boy to be at least eighteen given his maturity, but _blistering barnacles,_ he was just a child. Haddock himself hadn’t gone to sea until he was eighteen.

“Occupation?”

“Junior staff writer for _The Daily News._ ”

“Address?”

“26 Labrador Road.”

“Parents?”

Haddock watched as the boy’s face tightened almost imperceptibly before it was quickly replaced by an expression of calm professionalism.

“I have none.”

“You mean they are deceased?”

Tintin bit the inside of his cheek. “I do not know,” he said, ignoring the murmurs of the crowd.

Haddock watched the boy’s expression from where he sat and ignored his solicitor’s warning look. He could tell as plain as day that Tintin was growing agitated by the questioning. As the rough, rapid fire questioning continued Haddock made to stand but a sharp nudge from his solicitor stilled him. Scowling darkly, Haddock sat back in his chair, unhappy but helpless to do anything.

“My my, you do not even know your own family history?” said Wilkes in an oily voice.

“Enough,” snapped one of the captains suddenly, immediately causing the murmuring and whispering to cease. Tintin looked to see that Captain Riordan, a tall, imposing man with silver hair pale blue eyes, had been the one who had spoken.

“The boy’s familial background is of no concern to this court. Finish your questioning, Mr. Wilkes.”

The solicitor looked ready to protest but one quelling look from Captain Riordan silenced any further argument.

Tintin caught Captain Riordan’s eye and was surprised to see the man give Tintin an almost imperceptible nod before looking away.

Huffing, Wilkes nonetheless turned his line of questioning back to the _Karaboudjan._ When he got to the point of Tintin and Haddock’s escape from the ship and subsequent flight to the desert he paused before saying,

“And is it true that Captain Haddock assaulted you during your trek in the desert?”

“What-no!” Tintin exclaimed, shocked. “Why would you ask that?”

Wilkes picked up a piece of paper from his desk and walk towards Tintin, holding the paper out to the boy.

“This is your sworn statement, taken by Lieutenant Delcourt of the French Foreign Legion. In it you stated that Captain Haddock had attempted to strangle you because he apparently thought you were…ahem, a bottle of champagne. Is that not correct?”

Several people in the crow laughed while others shook their heads, glaring at Haddock in disgust. Haddock flinched and closed his eyes. He still felt horrible over that incident and knew that he was very lucky that he hadn’t seriously injured the boy.

Tintin’s heart sank as he realized that no matter what he said, Haddock was already damned. This hearing was nothing more than a formality. Nonetheless he marshalled himself and took a deep breath before looking Wilkes straight in the eye.

“It was the heat,” said Tintin. “Captain Haddock wouldn’t hurt a living soul. He wasn’t in his right mind-”

“You can hardly speak to Captain Haddock’s medical condition as you are not a doctor,” interrupted Wilkes with a cool smirk.

He turned back to the captains, who had been listening intently during Tintin’s statement. “I have nothing further.”

Captain Blake nodded before turning to Tintin. “Thank you Mr. Donadieu, you may go.”

Tintin nodded and stepped down from the box, unable to look at Haddock as he left the courtroom.

Haddock watched the boy go, feeling a sickening rush of guilt. But no sooner had the boy left than it was his turn again to be questioned again.

********

“All rise!”

Tintin snuck back into the courtroom through the fire exit, hoping he wouldn’t be caught. He technically wasn’t supposed to return after he had finished his statement but he simply couldn’t just walk away until he knew that Haddock was going to be all right. Even though Haddock had nearly driven Tintin mad with frustration during their flight into the desert, Tintin would never want to see the man so publicly humiliated as he was now. No, Tintin thought, he would see this through to the end.

The boy stayed at the back of the room, for once grateful for his small stature. He had a moment of panic when he thought Captain Riordan’s gaze rested on him for a moment. But if Riordan had spotted him, he was pointedly ignoring Tintin.

The captain with the dark brown hair and green eyes, Jonathan Edwards, Tintin remembered, surveyed the gathered crowd before his dark eyes rested on Haddock.

“Captain Haddock,” he began. “You have served for over twenty years in His Majesty’s merchant navy. Your service record precedes you, particularly during the Great War and most recently during the Yellow River Flood.”

Haddock fought not to grimace at the mention of the devastating flood that had decimated China; even after three years he still saw images of naked, bloated bodies floating in the flooded streets. No matter how hard he tried he couldn’t rid the images from his memory; only alcohol seemed to give him any temporary reprieve from the nightmares and the lingering stench of rotting corpses. Swallowing hard, Haddock forced himself to focus on the captain’s words.

“But,” Captain Edwards continued, “we can no longer ignore the reports from your peers regarding your reliance on drinking. And this most recent incident has cemented our opinion that you are a danger not just to yourself, but also to others.”

Tintin watched Haddock’s face as the damning words were read out loud. To Haddock’s credit the man’s expression remained steady, even though his face was noticeably paler and his hands were clenched tightly behind his back.

“Therefore, it is the opinion of this committee that your commission as a master seaman be revoked, effective immediately.”

“Your pension will remain solvent and will be paid out to you in recognition of your service to His Majesty…” the voice continued but Haddock hardly listened to it. He felt strangely detached from everything that happened after that. His solicitor was whispering anxiously in his ear but Haddock brushed the man off before rushing out of the room as soon as the hearing concluded. He moved as quickly as he could, knowing that those blasted reports would be on his heels in moments.

“Captain, over here!”

Haddock looked to his right to see Tintin beckoning him into an empty side office. Haddock quickly ducked inside, shutting and locking the door behind him. He lowered the blinds just before a crowd of reporters rushed past.

Once they had passed Haddock breathed a sigh of relief before turning back to Tintin. The boy looked somewhat paler than he had last remembered, but then again, Tintin had been as nearly as red as a lobster due to their trek in the desert.

“Captain Haddock, I’m so sorry,” the began but the older man stopped Tintin’s apology with a shake of his head.

“No apologies necessary, lad. You told the truth and no one can fault you for that.”

“What will you do now?” asked Tintin hesitantly. He didn’t like the flat, expressionless tone of Haddock’s voice, or the despair he saw in the older man’s eyes.

Haddock gave a sarcastic snort. “Nothing, lad, nothing at all. Except maybe go get a drink, since that’s all I’m good for, it seems.”

“Captain – ”said Tintin but Haddock shook his head.

“Don’t bother, Tintin. I know you mean well but it’s best to leave me be from now on. I’m sorry again for all the trouble I caused, and thank you again for your help. Good day to you.”

Tintin wanted to protest, but he could tell from Haddock’s mood and tone that the older man didn’t want to talk anymore.

“Very well then,” said Tintin, reluctantly donning his hat and coat. He made his way towards the door and paused to look once more at Haddock.

“Take care, Captain Haddock,” he said quietly before disappearing out the door. After the boy had gone Haddock sighed and leaned his head against the cool stone of the wall. He closed his eyes, longing for the familiar weightlessness and comfort of a strong glass of whiskey. God, he was so tired.

Wanting to avoid any more reporters, Haddock cautiously opened the door and looked out into the corridor, relieved that it was empty. However, just to be safe Haddock took the fire exit and navigated his way through the streets and alleys, but instead of heading towards his flat he made his way to his favourite tavern. It was on the less reputable side of London near the docks and Haddock knew there was little chance of any reporters tracking him down.

The tavern was busy due to a ship that had just docked, its crew enjoying their shore leave, which suited Haddock just fine. He made his way to a corner table and did his best to look inconspicuous.

The local barmen, whom Haddock had known for years, placed an empty glass and full bottle of whiskey in front of him.

“Sorry for yer troubles, Cap’n,” said the bartender in a think Cockney accent. “This bottle’s on the house.”

“There’s no need, Tom,” said Haddock even as he pulled the bottle towards him and filled it to the rim. He threw back the glass and filled it again in a moment.

Tom shook his head. “Consider it a ‘thank ye’ for that favour you did me five years ago wit’ me brother.”

Haddock spent the remainder of the afternoon and evening getting increasingly drunk. A voice in his head was protesting against the amount of alcohol he was imbibing, but Haddock’s heart was too heavy to listen to reason. By the time the clock struck six o’clock Haddock was well on his way to being truly sloshed.

“I see old habits die hard, or in your case, do not die at all.”

Haddock opened bleary eyes to glare at Phillips, who had somehow managed to track him down.

“And I see you still haven’t forgotten what happened nearly twenty years ago. If that’s all you’ve got to say, then you can bloody well bugger off,” said Haddock, glaring at the other captain.

Phillips stared down at Haddock in disgust, ignoring the increasingly restless sailors behind him. “And what about that young foreign reporter, Haddock? A bit of an unusual friend for an old drunk like you – or is he your new cabin boy?” The last words were spoken with unmistakable insinuation.

The words had scarcely left Phillips’ lips before Haddock stood and slammed his fist into Phillips’ jaw. The other man reeled backwards from the force of the blow, only barely catching himself against a table. Phillips glared at Haddock, his hair askew and blood dribbling down his chin.

“You pathetic, pompous, polydactyl son of a poe-faced profiteer!” Haddock seethed, ignoring the throbbing pain in his knuckles. 

“I might be an old, pathetic drunk, but at least I don’t pick fights with boys half my size,” said Haddock.

Phillips spat out a mouthful of blood and looked ready to retaliate, but a hard shove from Tom stopped him.

“That’s enough out of you,” said Tom, shoving Phillips towards the doorway.

“I’m a captain in the merchant navy,” snapped Phillips, shrugging Tom off. “I don’t take orders from the likes of you,” said Phillips, glaring at Tom contemptuously.

Tom grinned a ferocious, feral grin. “I couldna care less if you were the king of England, lad. This is my tavern and I’ll toss out any sod I bloody well please, do ye kin? Now get out or I’ll toss ye out!”

Phillips glared at Tom but took one look at the restless sailors around him and then at Haddock’s fierce expression. Haddock’s eyes dared Phillips to throw a punch. Phillips instead slipped out of the tavern, his cold green eyes mocking Haddock.

Haddock sat back down after Phillips had left and tossed back another drink, idly wondering if the boy reporter, Tintin, would even care to spare a thought for Haddock after this. Haddock doubted it.

********

It was late afternoon by the time Tintin returned to his flat. Snowy greeted his master with his usual exuberance, leaping immediately into Tintin’s lap when the boy sat down in a chair in the foyer. Tintin patted the dog’s silky head while rubbing his temple with his free hand. He could feel a nasty headache coming on and knew it was due to a lack of sleep combined with a poor appetite. He had given the sandwiches that Mrs. Finch had made earlier to a homeless beggar on his way home. The mere thought of eating after the hearing had made Tintin nauseous.

Mrs. Finch took one look at Tintin’s weary, despondent expression and wordlessly placed a steaming cup of tea on the table near Tintin’s chair. The boy shot her a grateful look, immensely grateful that Mrs. Finch clearly wasn’t going to question him about the hearing. He sat for some time by the empty fire grate, managing to finish two cups of tea before retiring to his room upstairs.

Since he had the rest of the day off, Tintin decided to catch up on some editing of some articles for Weber, but less than an hour later he let his pen drop onto the paper with a sigh. He simply couldn’t concentrate. The boy rested his head in his hands, rubbing at his eyes, and then looked up when the door bell rang. He descended the stairs, desperately hoping for some distraction from the day’s events.

“I’ll get it, Mrs. Finch,” he said. Tintin looked through the spy window and then opened the door when he saw two familiar figures on the door step.

“Hullo Thompson and Thomson,” he greeted the two reports, ushering them into the foyer. “I didn’t realize you were back in London. How did things go in Morocco with the Golden Claws syndicate?”

“Well,” said Thomson, drawing himself up with pride. “The Yard was so impressed with our work in Morocco in tidying the syndicate that they’ve given us a similar job here!”

“That’s wonderful news,” said Tintin. “But what do you mean by ‘similar’? I thought the syndicate had all been arrested?”

“We did too,” said Thompson, stroking his moustache. “But it seems that there might be a branch still in operation here in London.”

Tintin looked between the two brothers, a familiar sense of intuition tickling at the back of his brain.

“Similar? How so?”

“Well, it seems that there have been a spate of mysterious deaths similar to the one that poor chap, whatsits name-”

“Herbert Dawes?” ventured Tintin, raising a golden red brow.

“Yes, Herbert Dawes, that’s the fellow,” said Thomson, picking up where his brother had left off.

“It seems,” said Thompson, glaring at Thomson as he continued the story, “that there has been a rash in mysterious ‘accidents’ concerning low-level sailors in the merchant navy, and Scotland Yard would like our expertise on the case.”

“We thought you’d like to tag alone, since you helped our investigation somewhat during the Morocco investigation,” added Thompson magnanimously. 

Biting back a grin, Tintin grabbed his coat and hat and looked into the sitting room where Mrs. Finch was mending some of her collars. 

“Mrs. Finch, I’m going out and won’t be back until late. Don’t wait up.”

The woman snorted, not looking up from her stitching. “So long as you don’t get kidnapped again, I won’t wait up. Good night, Tintin. Do try to be on time for breakfast tomorrow at least.”

“Will do, Mrs. Finch,” said Tintin, ushering the detectives out the door, Snowy barking excitedly after them. “Good night!”

********

“Oh, by the way, Haddock’s name was mentioned,” said Thomson casually.

The detectives had spent the remainder of the afternoon explaining their findings to Tintin, including showing him all of the evidence they had collected thus far at the Yard. They were now seated in a café, eating supper before the detectives’ late shift started. It was evening now and the streets were starting to fill with the nighttime traffic that characterized London streets.

Tintin nearly dropped his spoon as he stared at the detectives. “What do you mean?”

“Why, we suppose he’s next on the list, since one of the witnesses we interviewed insisted that Haddock was the remainder of the syndicate’s target,” said Thompson, clearly proud of the work they had accomplished thus far.

Tintin gaped at the detectives.

“Oh dear, I suppose we should have mentioned that, shouldn’t have we?” said Thomson whimsically, stroking his moustache.

Tintin set down his silverware and pushed away from the table, hastily waving at the waiter as he did so.

“I have to find Captain Haddock and warn him. He could be in danger!”

“I say, do you think that’s really a good idea?” said Thomson as Tintin paid his bill. “I mean, Haddock doesn’t seem like the most sociable type.”

Tintin shook his head as he pulled on his coat. “It doesn’t matter, Haddock should know about this. And probably the merchant navy as well.”

“What if he doesn’t listen to you?” asked Thompson, raising a bushy dark brown skeptically.

“He has to listen to me,” said Tintin as he tugged on his hat. “I’m sorry to rush off; keep me informed of what you find out, won’t you? Snowy, come!”

“Why do you think he cares so much about that old sailor?” said Thomson after Tintin had rushed out the restaurant and hurried down the street, Snowy close on his heels.

Thompson shrugged as he pulled Tintin’s half-empty bowl of soup towards him. “No idea, but I do hope that sailor hasn’t gotten himself into any more trouble.”

********

It was nearly ten o’clock by the time Tintin left the most recent tavern. He was cold, tired, hungry, and nearly ready to give up on finding Haddock. Tintin sank down onto a bench, rubbing at his eyes tiredly. Snowy sat down at the boy’s feet and rubbed his silky head against Tintin’s ankles, whining softly. Tintin smiled and patted the dog’s head.

“I know, Snowy. I’m tired too, but I need to find Captain Haddock.”

“Are you looking for Archibald Haddock?”

Tintin turned to see a middle-aged woman studying him with wary suspicion. 

“Yes, madam, I am,” said Tintin. “Do you know him? If so can you tell me where I might find him?”

“I recognize you from the papers – you’re a reporter, aren’t you? Can’t you all leave Captain Haddock alone? He’s been through enough,” the woman said sharply.

Surprised but pleased that someone besides him seemed to care about Haddock’s reputation, Tintin hurried to explain himself.

“I am a reporter, yes, but I’m not here for a story. Haddock is a friend of mine and I’m worried about him.”

The woman studied Tintin for a moment, her dark eyes sharp and penetrating. “I’ve never seen you on this side of the city before - how do I know you’re telling me the truth?”

Tintin quickly explained how he had met Haddock and his involvement during the hearing. When he had finished he watched the woman’s face anxiously. 

“Captain Haddock has a flat near the docks,” she finally said. “It’s three blocks down, second left after the old bookstore. It’s the only red brick building on the street. You could walk from here.”

Feeling a rush of hope Tintin leapt off the bench with all the vigour of his sixteen years. “Thank you, miss…?” Tintin trailed off as he realized he didn’t know the woman’s name.

“Mrs. Katherine Dawes,” said the woman. The name sounded familiar to Tintin but he would worry about that later; right now he needed to find Haddock.

“Thank you, Mrs. Dawes. Good evening,” said Tintin has he hurried off down the street.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tintin’s surname ‘Donadiue’ means ‘given to God’ in French. It was a common name given to orphans whose family history was unknown, or to children who were given over by their families to monasteries or convents to be raised by religious orders. And since in my own head canon Tintin was raised by Dominican priests in a monastery, I could think of no better surname for him. 
> 
> Several readers have asked why Phillips dislikes Haddock so much and I promise that I will answer that before this story is concluded. You’ll have to wait and see. ;)
> 
> The 1931 China Floods, aka the Yellow River floods, are considered one of the worst natural disasters in recorded history. Western scholars estimate that between 3.7 and 4 million people died from flooding and secondary causes including famine and disease. Reports of cannibalism and infanticide were reported to the Chinese government. As British ships had established trade routes in China it is entirely plausible that Haddock, as a British merchant navy captain, would have been present during the flooding and would have seen first-hand the devastation caused by the floods.


	5. Adrift

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My dear readers, please forgive me. I never intended to leave you all waiting so long but real life really through me the ringer these past six months. I started a new job at the beginning of September which consumed most of my time and energy. Also, my home state of Texas suffered two tragedies in Hurricane Harvey and the Sutherland Springs church shooting. Both events have deeply rattled us Texans so I ask for your forgiveness for the delay in updating. As always, thank you to everyone who read and commented. I hope you enjoy this chapter!
> 
> Also, a big shout-out and “thank you” to Pink-Pencil-Girl303 for motivating me to get this chapter written and posted. :)
> 
> WARNING: As mentioned at the beginning of this story, this chapter deals with some of the physical effects of alcohol poisoning. I was torn about writing this but one thing I always appreciated about the Tintin comics was that Herge never seemed to shy away from the more serious repercussions of Haddock’s drinking (see ‘Destination Moon’ and ‘Voyagers on the Moon’).

_24 April, 1934_

By the time Tintin had managed to find the building Haddock’s flat was in it was nearly eleven o’clock. He knocked on the front door, once, twice and then thrice. Just when he was ready to give up he heard heavy footsteps and grumbling through the door.

“What’s that, who’s out there?” called an irritable voice from the other side of the door.

“My name is Tintin and I’m looking for Captain Haddock. Please, does he live here?”

The door opened slightly to reveal a very disgruntled-looking old woman. She glared at Tintin balefully.

“Your pardon, madame,” said Tintin. “I know it’s very late but I must speak to Captain Haddock.”

The door opened further to reveal a short, round woman that very much had the air of an English bulldog. She put her hands on her ample hips and eyed Tintin suspiciously.

“I’ve never seen you ‘round these parts before - you a friend of his?”

“Well, not exactly - ”

“Then you can jolly well sod off and leave us decent folks to sleep,” the woman snapped. She took a step backwards but Tintin wasn’t so easily desuaded.

“Wait, please!”

“I _must_ see Captain Haddock. It is a very urgent matter. Please,” Tintin repeated when the old woman seemed to hesitate.

The woman sighed and opened the door, gesturing for Tintin to step into the dark foyer. “He’s upstairs, though good luck talking to that one. He’s been in a foul mood ever since he got home, the bloody drunken sod.”

Tintin frowned at the woman’s coarse language but thanked her anyway. Snowy followed his master up the stairs and Tintin hesitated before knocking on the door. He had the uneasy feeling that something was wrong but Tintin wasn’t sure what.

Snowy seemed to sense it too; he whined and scratched at the door before looking back up at Tintin anxiously. 

“Captain Haddock? It’s me, Tintin,” Tintin called through the door. “Are you there?” 

Still no answer. Tintin tried the knob and was surprised to find it unlocked. Tintin normally wouldn’t intrude into someone’s room (at least, not unless he had a very good reason) but the sense of wrongness was growing stronger by the moment.

The room was pitch black - only the faint light of the street lamps outside provided a sliver of light. Tintin wrinkled his nose at the sour, pungent odour in the room. He made his way further into the room but suddenly tripped over something and landed hard on the floor. 

“What the - Captain!”

It was Haddock’s leg that he tripped over. Tintin stumbled to his feet and fumbled about until he found a lamp and lit. Blinking against the sudden light, Tintin turned back around.

The sight in front of him was something that would haunt him for years to come.

Haddock was lying on the floor of his flat, his head turned slightly towards Tintin. There was no blood or visible marks on the older man, but the puddle of vomit next to his head as well as the copious amount of empty whiskey bottles told the sad tale.

“Oh God,” murmured Tintin, kneeling down next to Haddock and shaking the older man’s arm hard.

 

“Captain Haddock, Captain Haddock! Can you hear me?”

A muffled groan was his only answer, but at least that meant the older man was still breathing and hadn’t choked to death on his own vomit.

Trying very hard not to panic, Tintin rolled Haddock onto his other side so that his airway remained cleared and pounded down the stairs.

The landlady had heard the commotion and she jumped back as Tintin nearly skidded into her at the foot of the stairs.

“Call an ambulance right now!” 

“See here, young man, don’t you go ordering me about -”

“Please, just call them!” Tintin pleaded before running back upstairs.

The old woman gaped after the boy before going to do as he had requested. “He better not have died,” she muttered as she rang the nearest hospital. “He owes me back rent!”

********

_25 April, 1934_

When Haddock opened his eyes he immediately shut them against the bright morning light that was filtering in through the window. His head was pounding with every beat of his heart and there was a foul taste in his mouth. Groaning, Haddock flung an arm over his face and rolled towards the wall.

It took him several moments to realise that he wasn’t at home - he slowly lowered his arm and looked at the unfamiliar surroundings. The white walls and sparse furnishing told him he was in a hospital of some sort. But how did he get here?

“Ah, you’re awake. How are you feeling, Mr. Haddock?” said a voice from the doorway. Haddock frowned as a tall, elderly man stepped into the room. He was clearly a doctor and a nurse was behind him bearing a tray.

“Where in blazes am I?” said Haddock. “And I feel like there’s a confounded hammer going on in my skull.”

“Ah, that would be from the alcohol poisoning,” said the doctor coolly, gesturing for the nurse to set the tray on the nightstand. “Drink that; it will help with your headache and the nausea.”

Haddock downed the contents in three gulps.

The doctor sighed and shook his head, muttering about “drunken sailors” before returning his attention to Haddock.

“You’re in St Mary’s Hospital. Your friend called for an ambulance last night and had you brought in.”

“Friend?” said Haddock, struggling to pull memories from last night from the pounding molasses that was currently brewing in his skull.

“Yes, the young man with the dog - he was the one who found you last night,” said the doctor with a hint of impatience in his voice.

Haddock closed his eyes and leaned back in his pillow, memories of last night rushing through his head. He knew he had drank too much but he had just wanted so badly to forget everything, just for one night. And Tintin...Haddock wasn’t sure whether to feel angry or mortified that the boy had found him in such a state.

Before he could dwell on it any longer Tintin himself stepped into the room. The boy looked exhausted and he carried himself with the slightly shaky air of someone who hadn’t slept well in days. Haddock knew the look well; he saw it on his own face often enough.

“Could you excuse us, please?” Tintin asked the doctor politely. The doctor nodded and he and the nurse left, closing the door behind them.  
Haddock, completely unprepared for seeing the boy, glowered at Tintin with every ounce of authority that he could muster under the circumstances.

“What do you want now?” he demanded before the boy could speak.

Surprised and a little annoyed at the older man’s tone, Tintin frowned but stepped closer into the room.

“I wanted to see that you were alright. How are you feeling?”

“How d’you think I feel?” snapped Haddock. He knew he was letting his temper get the best of him but at that moment he didn’t care. Seeing the boy again and knowing that it was Tintin who had seen him in such a state sent waves of guilt and resentment coursing through Haddock’s veins. Anger was the only thing that Haddock could grasp at the moment and he flung it at the nearest target with all the skill he had accumulated over the years at sea.

“Why were you in my flat last night? Snooping about for another story, were you?”

“Of course not!” said Tintin, shocked at the accusation. He had expected some awkwardness on seeing Haddock again but the sheer venom in the older man’s voice and his cold gaze was something he had never expected.

“I wanted to warn you - Thompson and Thomson told me that they think the Golden Claws syndicate is still active in London. Several sailors in the merchant navy have met with dangerous accidents and they think - ”

“I don’t care what those pompous, pea-brained, fluffed-up dunderheads of detectives think!,” Haddock exclaimed, banging his fist on the nightstand. “I already told you to leave me be. I don’t need some silly child tagging along after me and I can look after myself just fine. I don’t want your help or your company so you can get out!”

Tintin stared at Haddock before his expression shuttered. “Very well,” he said in a calm, hollow voice. “I shan't trouble you again. Good day, Captain Haddock.”

He turned to go, immensely glad that he was good at hiding his emotions. He nearly ran into the nurse on his way out.

“Excuse me, mademoiselle,” he murmured. He began to leave but the nurse stopped him with a hand on Tintin’s arm, a kind expression on her face.

“Goodness, love, you’re white as sheet! Did you want me to leave a message for your friend?”

Tintin tried not to wince at the word “friend”.

“Yes,” he said. “Tell him...tell him that I hope he gets well soon.”

The nurse nodded and watched as Tintin disappeared down the stairs.

A crash sounded from the captain’s room and the nurse sighed and cast her eyes heavenward, praying for patience. She did not get paid enough for this, she thought.

*********

_26 April, 1934_

The next morning the doctor deemed Haddock well enough to leave, though Haddock strongly suspected the doctor was tired of his foul mood and was anxious to be rid of him. He had just finished dressing when the nurse from yesterday came in and handed Haddock a packet of what appeared to be powdered medicine.

“Doctor’s recommendation,” she said cooly. “It will help with any lingering effects of your recent...illness.”

“Thank you,” said Haddock curtly as he finished gathering his affects.

“Captain Haddock.”

“What?” said Haddock, turning around to glare at the nurse in exasperation.

 

“The young man who was here when you were brought in - I know you said he wasn’t a friend but you should know how distraught he was. A boy that young should not have had to witness finding you in such a state.”

Haddock flinched as if he had been stung by a whip. The memory of his angry outburst to Tintin was still fresh in his mind no matter how hard he tried to forget it. But despite the feelings of guilt his lingering embarrassment and self-loathing was stronger.

Haddock shrugged and finished pulling on his coat. “As he said, he’s no friend of mine. Thank you and good day.”

********

_13 May, 1934_

The weeks that followed bled into a monotonous routine for Tintin. He worked diligently at his remaining backlog of work, steadfastly ignoring Thornton's criticisms and taunting comments. Not even the most scathing remarks about Tintin’s work ethic, intelligence or writing abilities would get a rise out of the boy and eventually Thornton lost interest in baiting Tintin. Several of Tintin’s coworkers had noticed that the boy had been more quiet and withdrawn lately; Tintin absolutely refused to discuss the _Karaboudjan_ affair with anyone but the staff of the _Daily News_ quickly lost interest in the subject. The growing unease in Germany had captured their interest, along with every other major newspaper in Europe, and soon Thornton had every writer focused on Germany. 

Of course that meant that Tintin was left with the “scuff work”; that is, anything that Thornton didn’t deem important enough for his senior writers and was given to Tintin in a never-ending pile of work. To Thornton’s extreme annoyance Tintin not only finished all of his assignments on time, but they were all perfectly edited and even Thornton couldn’t find any fault in Tintin’s work. But that didn’t stop him from continuing to pile work onto Tintin’s desk. It was petty and spiteful behaviour - not even the most senior editors were expected to complete the large amount of work in as little time - but Tintin was glad for the distraction.

Tintin knew he was pushing himself too hard but he still had a lingering fear that Thornton would fire him at the first opportunity and he could not afford to lose another paycheque. Nor could he afford having his salary reduced like it had been last month; his savings weren’t enough for him to live without a job and so Tintin doggedly soldiered through his tasks. He hadn’t been sleeping well anyway so coming into work early and leaving late hadn’t been difficult. 

Thompson and Thomson kep Tintin updated on their investigation of the Golden Claws syndicate and the fate of the three sailors that had been murdered since Tintin and Haddock had arrived back in London. Tintin had told the detectives that he was no longer pursuing the matter but the two detectives continued to give him updates regardless. If the detectives were surprised at Tintin’s sudden lack of interest in they didn’t mention it but kept him informed nonetheless. They were good friends like that.

Unfortunately Scotland Yard had not been able to find anything of substance and had dismissed the deaths as merely a spate of bad luck. If the Golden Claws syndicate was still active in London then they had done a very good job of concealing themselves. Perhaps they were aware that the authorities suspected that they were still in London. Either way, Tintin had resolved to wash his hands on the matter. Haddock was right when he had said that this was a matter left to the police. He wouldn’t stick his nose into the matter any further.

And he had resolved to not bother Captain Haddock anymore. Tintin refused to admit how much Haddock’s parting words had affected him. He could understand Haddock being embarrassed over the situation but the words had struck a sensitive subject that Tintin had refused to acknowledge for some time. Tintin had never believed in feeling sorry for himself, but at that moment he suddenly felt a wave of despair so strong that it made him drop his pencil. Was this what his life was going to be like for the rest of his days, constantly struggling from paycheque to paycheque, uncertain of his place in the world? 

Tintin had managed to assure his coworkers that he was fine despite the outrageous amount of work he had been assigned. Mrs. Finch wasn’t so easily put off. She was an intensely private woman and had always respected Tintin’s privacy out of a sense of mutual respect. But when Tintin declined dinner for the fourth time in one week the good lady showed her steelier side.

“Tintin, so help me, if you do not eat something I shall ring up a doctor this very night and have you committed to a hospital - perhaps then they can force some sense into that head of yours!”

Stunned, Tintin looked up from the newspaper he had been reading by the fire, eyeing Mrs. Finch warily. Mrs. Finch was a stoic woman and this outburst was very unlike her.

“You wouldn’t do that...would you?” he said, suddenly feeling like a mouse that had been spotted by a hawk.

“I most certainly would! Twould be a far better sight than watching my only lodger starve himself.”

“I can take care of myself,” Tintin said, suddenly unable to meet his landlady’s gaze. He frowned down at his paper, hoping Mrs. Finch would drop the subject but the good lady would not be so easily put off.

Mrs. Finch scoffed. “And a fine job you’re doing of it. Have you looked in a mirror lately, Tintin?”

“You look like a phantom, Tintin,” said Mrs. Finch, her gaze softening but tone still with that note of steel.

“I have always respected your privacy and have never inquired into your affairs, even when you disappear for days at a time and leave me wondering if the next knock on my door will be a policeman telling me that they’ve found your body somewhere in a gutter.”

Tintin dropped his paper and stood. “Mrs. Finch,” he began but the older woman had worked herself into a proper fit and was determined to give him a piece of her mind.

“No, this must stop Tintin. I do not know what has happened to make you like this and I shan’t ask. But remember this, you are not as alone as you may think you are.”

The last sentence was spoken very gently and before Tintin could respond Mrs. Finch bid him a curt goodnight and withdrew to her room.

Tintin sighed and sank back down into his chair, wondering if he would ever stop feeling so alone.

********

_13 May, 1934_

The shipyard’s bells were just starting to ring when the sailor set down his last box to be unloaded for the day. He quickly gathered up his belongings as his companions called after him.

“Where you off to in such a hurry, Craig?”

“Aye, come with us for a drink!”

Craig shook his head, his mop of dirty blonde hair falling into his eyes. He pushed it away hastily as he shrugged into his coat and donned his cap.

“Can’t tonight, lads - I’ve got an errand to run.”

“More like a lady to meet, eh Craig?”

“Does she have a friend or two?”

“Aye, we could use some company!”

The men laughed and Craig smiled at the coarse but good-natured joking of his comrades. 

“‘Fraid there’s no lady, boys - just got to take care of some things before we leave port tomorrow.”

“Well, don’t be late - y’know Captain Phillips is a real stickler for being on time.”

“Yes, I know,” said Craig, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. Every seaman knew what a stickler Captain Phillips was about tardiness.

After Craig had gone one of the sailors turned to his companion.

“Wonder what’s gotten into Craig lately? He’s been jumpier than a bloomin’ hare in spring!”

Craig adjusted the strap of his seaman’s bag across his chest and quickened his pace. If he was late again…

Shaking his head free of those disturbing thoughts, Craig managed to make his way to his destination without any interference - an old abandoned warehouse near Whitechapel.

He stepped inside the dark building, squinting in the dim light from the dying sun.

“Ah, Craig, right on time. Good man.”

Craig resisted the urge to jump and turned around to see two men - one tall and lean and the other short and stout - staring at him coolly. 

“I think they’re on to you,” he said quickly. “The newspapers are still asking for anyone with information about those sailors to come forward, and Scotland Yard still has two detectives assigned to the cases.”

When the men said nothing Craig continued. “If I were you I’d get the rest of your gang and get out of London,” he said nervously. Why oh why couldn’t they have left him and those other sailors alone?

“What about Haddock?” the tall, lean man suddenly spoke around a cigarette.

Craig blinked. “What about him?”

“Last I heard he had fallen in with that boy reporter - Tintin or somethin’,” said the short, stout man.

“That pathetic drunken tosser?” Craig scoffed. “He’s a fool and not worth worryin’ about.” He hoped they believed that lie; Craig had always been good at cards and he played his hand now.

The tall man shook his head. “Word on the street has it that Tintin has been sniffing ‘round the docks, talking to sailors. He even managed to run into Herbert Dawes’ wife.”

“Aye, and those detective from the Yard, wot about them?” added his companion.

“What’s to be done then?” Craig asked after a moment of silence. “If anything happens to Haddock now it won’t be able to be explained as an accident.”

“Me old dad used to say, if there’s a leak - plug it,” said the tall man. “Get rid of that nosy reporter. Word has it that he has a talent for sticking his nose in places it don’t belong.”

“What?” said Craig, his voice raspy.

“You heard me - get rid of the boy. Shoot him, drown him, I don’t care. Just get rid of him - just like you did with Dawes, aye?”

Craig blanched. He hadn’t actually been the one to pull the trigger on Dawes, but he hands were bloodied nonetheless. He was as guilty as sin but there was nothing to be done about it now - he was in too deep. 

“Is there a problem, Craig?” asked the short man with a sickening smile.

“No, no problem, sir,” said Craig.

“Good, now get out.”

After Craig had left the short man looked up at his companion worriedly.

“Think he’s losing his nerve sir? What if he rats us out to the coppers?”

The man with the scarred eyebrow shook his head. “He can’t without incriminating himself. But still. Best not to keep him around longer than needed.”

The short man grinned wolfishly. “Aye, sir.”

********

_13 May, 1934_

Haddock straightened his back, wincing as it cracked audibly. He wiped his hands on a rag and nodded in satisfaction at his now clean flat. He had tossed out all of the empty whiskey bottles and dusted the flat from top to bottom. A thorough mopping of the floors had followed, as well as dumping all of the dirty dishes into the wash bin. His clothing he had sorted and folded into two piles, leaving the soiled pile outside in a basket for his landlady to wash. The miserable old bat had been most put out that Haddock hadn’t indeed died that night and that yes, she was going to raise Haddock’s rent for all the trouble he had caused.

Slave-driver, he had thought even though he probably deserved the rent increase.

The urge to clean had come out of boredom; if Haddock hadn’t found something to distract him from his morose thoughts he would have gone mad. As he hadn’t felt like reading or going for a walk he had decided to clean. He was tired laying about all day anyway; while at sea there had always been something to do and the weeks of inactivity were slowing driving Haddock into bedlam. The only distractions he had were some telegrams from Chester and a few other old friends who tried to encourage him despite his recent public humiliation.

The day had cleared as he had worked and Haddock had opened all of the windows, allowing some much needed air to get into the flat. The books that had been scattered across the room were now returned to their rightful places on the bookshelves; as he lifted the last book a newspaper clipping fluttered to the floor.

Haddock bent down to pick it up, ready to toss it in the bin, but stopped short. It was a clipping from last month - an article about the Golden Claws syndicate written by none other than Tintin.

Haddock groaned and stood, setting the article on his desk. Fine, he thought, he could take a hint. He had been struggling not to think about Tintin, or of anything that had happened in the past month really, but Haddock’s conscience had been plaguing him for weeks and he knew what he had to do. He couldn’t take back the words he had spoken to Tintin weeks ago. He could, however, apologise to the boy for his behaviour. He just hopped Tintin would be willingly to listen.

With that resolution in mind Haddock grabbed his coat and hat and quickly left his flat. Haddock had strode off resolutely down the street but stopped when he suddenly realised that he had no idea where Tintin lived or how to contact him.

“Blisterin’ barnacles,” sighed Haddock in annoyance, running a hand through his hair.

********

_14 May, 1934_

Tintin closed the door to the _Daily News’_ front office, making sure the door was locked before stuffing his key in his pocket. It was almost eight o’clock and he had just finished his remaining backlog of work. He knew Thornton would just give him more work the next morning but Tintin was simply too tired to care.

A friendly “whuff” greeted him and Tintin smiled and knelt down to pet Snowy’s silk head. Mrs. Finch always let the dog out at five o’clock so that he could meet Tintin once he got off work.

“Hello boy,” said Tintin, rubbing the dog’s ears gently. “I’m sorry to have kept you waiting. I hope you didn’t spend too much time in the rubbish bins? You know that’ll mean another bath for you; Mrs. Finch hates the smell of garbage in her house.”

Snowy shook his head and gave Tintin a look that clearly conveyed the dog’s thoughts on baths.

Laughing, Tintin gave Snowy one final pat and stood. Tintin had just stepped out onto the street and began walking home when he slowed. He had the sudden, uneasy feeling that he was being watched. Next to him Snowy growled softly and Tintin turned to look uneasily into the dark alleyway next to him.

Deciding it was best to keep moving, Tintin shook himself resolutely. “Let’s keep going Snowy,” he said.

He hadn’t taken more than two steps when hands suddenly reached out, grabbing Tintin and stifling his mouth when he tried to shout. The next thing he knew Tintin had been pulled back into the alleyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the summer of 1934 the president of Germany, Paul von Hindenburg, was close to death. In May of the same year the Nazi party started the People’s Court; Hitler and the Nazi party would gain supreme control of Germany in August of 1934.


End file.
